And there he is.
The biggest mistake I never made.
Nick Ingram.
My husband in this nightmare world.
A doctor comes to talk to the both of us. It’s not the same as the one yesterday. I haven’t seen her since I woke up, no opportunity to ask the million questions bubbling in my head about my own health. This doctor is male and grey-haired and so much of a stereotype it’s almost funny. Or at least it might be funny if it was happening to someone else.
‘Thank you for waiting for me before you spoke withmy wife,’ Nick tells him, shaking his hand with the kind of vigour that makes him look like an overly pretentious twat. I try not to outwardly bristle at the misogynistic undertones of his words.
‘We like to make sure both parties are present,’ the doctor replies. I want to scream at them that I am the one in the hospital bed. That it is me who is sick. Me who they should be talking to. But what do I matter?
‘Will she be okay?’ Nick asks, sounding every inch the concerned husband. He almost convinces me for a moment. When did he become such a good actor?
‘As long as we control the heart element, she’ll make a full recovery.’ The doctor throws me a paternal look.Clever girlhis eyes say, and I want to slap his stupid face. ‘She’ll need plenty of physical therapy, but you did the right thing by starting that while she was in the coma to avoid catastrophic muscular entropy.’
‘You said she might have some lingering …’ Nick pauses as if gearing himself up to say something less than savoury. ‘Issues,’ he adds eventually, a tiny curl to his lip. ‘From the coma.’
‘She’ll be disorientated for a while. She may even be a touch skittish, it’s a lot for a girl to go through.’
I want to tell him I’m not a girl, that I’m almost thirty and I have a fucking PhD.
‘She’ll need a strong pair of hands to guide her through this.’
That’s it. Fuck this shit. ‘You know that I can talk? That I’m not some fragile doll who needs to be taken care of? I have a PhD. And an actual Horizons Award.’ I’m defiant, my righteousness blazing like a fire. I feel alive for the first time in days.
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Nick strokes my forehead. ‘It really has messed you up a bit, hasn’t it?’ He sounds like he’s talking toa five-year-old. And one he thinks is somewhat dumb, even for a child that age. The doctor and Nick share a look. Pity.
‘The delusion is normal,’ the doctor says.
‘Delusion?’ I can feel my fire dampening.
‘Oh, sweetheart. Do you really think you have a PhD?’
‘Yes. In theoretical physics. From Imperial.’
He smirks. As if I’m amusing him. ‘Oh, sweetheart. I promise you don’t. And what is this skyline award?’
‘Horizons Award.’ I correct. ‘It’s very prestigious.’
‘Oh, sweetheart.’ More pity drips from the words and I vow to punch him in the face if he calls me sweetheart one more time. ‘I don’t think that’s a real thing.’
But … I can feel the cool of the glass award against my palm, the weight of it giving a satisfying heft. I remember joking with Cesca that it would make a rather good murder weapon. She had laughed so hard champagne had sprayed from her nose and then we’d had to go to the bathroom to touch up her running mascara.
But … I can also feel the cool of the platinum band on my fourth finger, feel the way it digs into the flesh, branding me. Telling the whole world that not only did I marry this jerk, but I also gave up the very thing that made me … well … me. Getting my PhD was the first step and then winning that award was my ticket into my company. Without it, I have no job, no series of articles inNew Scientist, no potential book deal with Tyler Adams, no flat paid for with my own salary and full of all the little things that give meaning to my life.
Which Bethany am I?
Am I Bethany Raven, PhD, Horizons Award winner and kick-ass futurologist?
Or am I Bethany Ingram?
What if Bethany Ingram is all I’ve ever been?
Chapter Forty-Eight
The hospital gives me a clean bill of health – well, except for the heart condition, which they’ve given me medication for – and instructs me to rest up at home and work on getting my strength back.
